


Crash and Burn

by kanji_jumanji



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Hostage Situations, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Near Death Experiences, Swearing, Violence, lots of swearing, reader is kinda depressed, slowburn, this is my first fic so fuxk it, uhh what else should i put??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-05-19 03:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14866043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanji_jumanji/pseuds/kanji_jumanji
Summary: Wrong place at the wrong time sorta deal and look where the late-night rum binging got you. Caged up in some sick fuck’s warship with no way out except a height drop of every daredevil’s dream. Hopefully, you can escape before the Decepticon medic softens up your heart, and you soften his.





	1. The Night it All Went Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Yo this is my first fic on here, but I've written before so don't worry I'm not horrible.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader drinks her problems away at a 24/7 gas station without realizing that soon she'll be considered a problem to someone a lot bigger.

Nothing good lasts forever. The universe loved to toy with you on that specifically. You let the theory consume your empty heart, throwing all the blame at the universe, but there wasn't enough spite in the world to bring your mother back. With a tipsy body to accompany your equally unstable mind, you pressed your back against the cold brick of a 24/7 gas station.

It was chilly, most nights in Jasper Nevada were, so you tighten your hoodie by tugging at its strings, hoping to enclose yourself from the cold nipping at your nose and the whole reality of your situation. Where your hoodie failed to keep out the world, music was there to soothe your aching heart.

As if on cue a certain song played on your iPhone, its earbuds whispering a song of woe by Gilbert O'Sullivan. Syncing with your heart, the melody continued, and once the chorus hit your hate towards the universe spiked.

  _What a shitty coincidence._

 

**_We may as well go home_ **

**_As I did on my own_ **

 

**_Alone again, naturally._ **

 

   _Thanks, universe, I hate it_

An empty pit sunk in your chest. Like others seeking to fill that void, your escape was drinking all the problem away until it numbed your existence, or let you fall into a dark slumber. Drinking a bottle of rum at 1 in the morning was not the best coping method but you couldn't give any more fucks. All of them were taken away with your mother.

 _Mother, forgive me. I'm not even 21 yet._ You snort air through your nose then take a swig of rum, the alcohol burning your throat. _Like it matters. As if one year away from requirement will kill me…_

Turns out, it just might, but not in the way you think, While the song continues to play, the alcohol manipulates your emotions, making your nose tickle as tears glossed your heartbroken eyes. In an attempt to not shamelessly sob out in public, even if it was an ungodly hour and no one was around to care, you curled yourself into a tight ball.

Unknownst to you, a brawl was just about to take place.

Loud engine revving caught your ears as a couple cars whizzed by. Midnight rendezvous races happened frequently because Jasper's flat desert terrain was perfect for those activities. So you dismissed the cars, but boy what a mistake that was. Not a second later the ground trembled beneath you.

Your drunken ass mistook it as a body tremor from all the crying, yet a minute later, when another—stronger—shockwave hit again, you took action.

 _What the hell?_ You meekly pick up your head, searching for what caused the disturbance. Again, another quake shakes the ground, a bit harder than the second, and caused the rum standing by your hip to nearly go topside.

Now, it was late, your ass was drunk off your rocker, and right now a bottle of rum seemed to be your only friend, so the sight before you wasn't entirely impossible. Just extremely unexplainable. Barely a mile away were two gigantic robots fighting in the middle of the street.

Naturally, you eyed your bottle of rum as if that were the problem here, then looked back at the robots to see if they were real.

"Hooly shit, I'm either drunk as hell or this is some hyper-futuristic Pacific Rim shit."

You gulped down spit to wash away the fire in your throat. Sparks lit up the clear desert sky as the two bots clashed with one another. Sounds of metal scraping against metal ripped through the atmosphere like a knife, irritating your sensitive ears.

You sat awestruck as the two battled. Hallucination or not, this was cool as fuck.

For better or for worse, one of the robots—a yellow one, you can barely make out—skids along the ground and instantly its hand transforms into a blaster and said blaster was now shooting out lasers.

_I want one._

Yellow-the-not-so-mellow robot pursues his opponent, the robot with a cherry red coat, who is now running away. Running straight towards your direction actually. Yellow, is now firing at Red, and both are oblivious to your presence as they rush closer to the gas station. Actually, one of the stray lasers notices you and almost takes off your head.

"Real, real, definitely fucking real!" Smoke dissipates off some of your loose ~~singed~~ hair strands. Instantly you pat your head repeatedly in case any leftover sparks decided to have a campfire up there.

_They're getting closer!_

The bot's heavy metal clunks loudly against the concrete, shaking the ground even more, and making it harder for you to book to safety. The rum wasn't helping either with it sloshing to and fro in your stomach walls.

_Oh God—Oh God, holy shit! Mother of Mary of all that is good and holy!_

You are scrambling like a kid on Christmas morning. In this case, your present would be the safety of a gas station pillar to protect you from robots who apparently thought it'd be a good idea to have a boss fight in the middle of the street.

“Hold still you piece of Autobot trash!” A rich voice is shouting now and it is followed by the roof above you being slammed upon.

Your vision of the battle isn't complete because you can only see two yellow legs swinging as wildly as they can over the gas station roof. Kool-Aid man, whom you guessed had the rich voice was standing and what you could only infer was grappling Yellow to the roof.

_Oh my god I'm going to die. I am going to fucking die and my tombstone will read ‘crushed by giant robots’._

You crutch down to the ground still hugging the pillar will every ounce of your being.

Mechanical whirs are spat over your head but it doesn't make any sense in your ears.

“Did you just insult my carrier? Why Bumblebee I’d never peg you for the kind to be—”

Another slam, only this time it was Kool-Aid man to take the beating. Yellow— _Bumblebee_ , you corrected yourself—had interrupted his adversary with a swift kick to the chest, pushing him far from the station.

_Whoa. Lit._

You are gawking at how powerful the kick was because Kool-Aid man left a crater from his landing spot. However, the effect of this attack left you perfectly in the robot’s sights. His eyes—were they even called eyes? you wondered—locked with yours. The grin his face held was not the real Kool-Aid man smile. Impostor.

“Shit.”

Now would be the part where you attempt to run from the bad guy, but fear had other plans. Your fight or flight response was pretty shit n’ all with the run, so you stood there dumbfounded like a deer in the headlights.

Bumblebee is struggling to off from the roof, which you could obviously hear with all the scraping going on, but this gave the impostor Kool-Aid man time to capture you.

"And what's this? A fleshy organic?"

Finally, you come to your senses and scramble to get away, but the slender fingers of the robot were faster than your feeble legs. With ease the robot has you high in the air by your hood, his red irises glaring at you in confusion.

"How interesting."

You squeaked as the robot dangled you even higher above the ground, shaking you as if you were a prized goldfish won at a carnival. Immediately you began clawing at their fingers in the attempt to not slip off out of their grasp.

Rapid beeping from Bumblebee ensues the Kool-Aid man’s actions. You barely make the situation since you were spinning around like a dreidel. Everything within your vision became a swirled hell that only Van Gogh himself could conjure up.

"Put her down? Why ever would I do that?"

_Because if you don’t my insides will become my outsides, you dense motherfucker!_

Only seconds later Kool-Aid is slammed by Bumblebee, which causes you to slip from the bot’s fingers. In mid-air you are caught by another hand, this one's grasp more gentle. The rum settles down in your stomach but a growing headache is another story. You consider yourself lucky to not to be throwing up in the big bot’s hand.

Although you have no fucking clue what Bumblebee is saying, you assure him you are fine by giving a half-assed thumbs up. While Kool-Aid man struggles to his own feet, you are taken off yours when Bumblebee decides to transform around you, and holy fuck does it make you trip balls.

Gears are shifting into place, the sound of pistons cranking captures your attention, and suddenly you are sitting in an expensive looking Camaro. All air exits your body as you let out a string of curses that sailors would be jealous of. It’s not every day you find yourself being fought over by two giant-ass robots and then has one of them fucking turn into a car—a Camaro no less—and with you in it.

A soft seat belt click breaks you out of your mind-fuckery. You glance down to see that Bumblebee has strapped you into the driver seat. After doing so, the car reeves his engine before hightailing out of the gas station, his tires screeching against the pavement as a final bid to Kool-Aid man.

Damn, you don’t even have to touch the steering wheel because it's doing everything by itself. Gas pedals n’ all.

_The car is fucking driving by itself. Holy fuck._

_Google can eat shit._

The speaker from the car began to spit out beeps and clicks, most of which were incoherent to you. Most of? All of it actually. The robot—er, car now—wasn't making a lick of sense. You weren't exactly fluent in robot either so communication was a no-go.

“I’m sorry, I can’t understand!” Your statement goes out the window when Bumblebee takes a hard right.

In the rearview mirror, you spot Kool-Aid man as he transforms into a car as well. By god, his car form was just as impressive as Bumblebee’s. A great choice really, an Aston Martin easy on the rims with a custom paint job. Can you hear the wedding bells?

 _God, I’d be worshiping these cars right if it weren’t for the fact that one of them is trying to kill the other._ You keep your mouth shut as the chase continues. At this point, Bumblee has stopped trying to speak with you and instead dials someone for a phone call.

“Bumblebee?” It’s an old man. “Is that you? What are you doing out so far on patrol?”

 _Patrol?_ You pay little attention to the conversation and focus it on the Aston Martin tailing Bumblebee. Through the back windshield, you can see the sports car speed up to match Bumblebee's pace, who was currently beeping a mile a minute to the receiver of the call. _Shit. He’s gotta drive faster if we’re trying to outrun him!_

“You picked up a _human?_ Bumblebee, what were you thinking!? Optimus will have our audio receivers for this!” You wince at the tone, then decide to interject the call.

“It’s not his fault you cranky, old coot!” Perhaps it's the alcohol acting as your confidence, or maybe you’re out of fucks to give. Someone’s got their panties in a twist and you aren’t having it.

“Cranky, old coot?” the old coot scoffs, “cranky, old _COOT?_ Listen to me you organic meatsack, I do not put my life on the line every day to save this planet just so you can be ungrateful about it!”

You shut your trap, confused by his words and flustered by the outburst. _Save this planet?_ You open your mouth to spit venom back his way but it's cut off by an actual cut off.

Kool-Aid man had driven further and swerved himself in front of Bumblebee, effectively severing any sliver of escape. The brakes are the first thing you hear then it's overcome by a constant ringing in your ear due to slamming your head against the driver's wheel. The in the hell thought it'd be a good idea to have a _metal insignia_ here? It's probably stamped into your skin now because of the impact.

“Tone it the fuck down Kool-Aid man, whatever happened to the brick wall?/stick to breaking the brick walls.”

Warm blood is oozing out of your nose, which is thankfully not broken just bruised horribly. You spot the blood rolling off and dropping onto the wheel.

“Shit. Sorry, Bumblebee.” You are a muttering mess as you try to clean another mess. It doesn't work. Good thing the wheel’s mainly black right? He totally won't notice the blood smear. Hopefully.

Since the blood captivated you, you failed to realize what was happening outside the Camaro. It was a complete western cowboy showdown but with alien robot cars. Each bot pulled aside, their engines roaring at one another as if to reenact those weird male dominance standoffs you'd see on the animal channel.

_What a way to go, huh? Fought over by two robot cars. Mom would be so proud._

The silence is deafening. No engine revving, no tire screeching, not even a clicking of lights. You are left on the edge of your seat with anticipation.

Kool-Aid man makes the first move. He transforms, charging at Bumblebee. His actions cause Bee to transform as well, leaving you to roll right onto the ground. While you army crawl away and try not to get stepped on, the two robots are at it again with weapons at each other's throats.

 _Oh lord, please don't let me become a flesh pancake._ Adrenaline is back pumping through your veins and you struggle to cool it down.

Just as you push yourself off the ground something latches onto your right leg, squeezing it tightly.

“Not so fast, fleshie.”

_Shit._

The ground becomes farther and farther away as you are lifted into the air.

 _Where the fuck is Bumblebee!?_ You are screaming now, hoping to scare the robot but it doesn't faze him. It's strange how dependent you became to an alien entity you barely know and met thirty minutes ago.

Kool-Aid man gives you a sick grin that sends the shiver down your spine. Before he is able to change back into a car, you spot Bee on the ground, smoke coming off of him in waves. He wasn't dead, thank god (you could see him scrambling to get up), but the hole in his leg was too much to bear and he crumpled to the ground like a rag doll.

“Bumblebee!” It's a fruitless cry for help because the next thing you know, you are sitting passenger in the Aston Martin.

Two seat belts slither around your body, binding you to the car seat. It was a tight pinch, you must admit, but that didn't stop you from wriggling like a caterpillar to break free.

“Let me go you insolent piece of shit Martin!” A growl resonated from your bared teeth, but it is swallowed by the Martin’s engine. Kool-Aid man lays wasted to the ground and leaves a dust buffet for Bumblebee.

“Ouch,” the same velvety voice spoke through the radio, “that hurt, but not as much as this will!”

The car cackles and out pops a strange rod from the dashboard. It's sparking with electricity as it reflects off your eyes. Anger surges through every ounce of you, consuming your heart by fire.

_Not today fucker._

“I've already had enough shit to deal with lately and I don't need ‘kidnapped by a 20-whatever-the-fuck-tall robot’ added to the list! So you can take this electricity rod and shove it up your ass!”

Curling your legs up to your chest, you rammed your heels straight at the electrical rod, despite knowing you'd receive a shock from doing so.

“Heel kick, motherfucker!”

Your kick only broke one tip of the rod, but it’s enough to kill the electricity. A triumphant smirk graces your lips and you can barely feel the aftershock of electricity tingling through your muscles.

“Did you just— _You did!_ ”

The brakes are pulled and this time around you do not fly headfirst into the dashboard.

“My interior! You’re getting it now, fleshie.”

“Bring it Kool-aid man.”

The stereo growls at you, quickly pulling back the electricity rod into the glove compartment. You wait for the car to do something—anything at this point, but Kool-Aid man simply drives off, speeding down the open road while you attempt to bite off the seatbelt. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and boy, were you desperate.

“Fool me once, shame on you…” you take your attention off gnawing the seatbelt to stare at the radio.

_What the hell is he—_

Not a second later the electricity rod is back up and ready to strike, and you as well. However, Kool-Aid man predicts your move and dodges your heel kick, swiftly and painfully tasering your shoulder.

“Fool me twice, shame on me.” He laughs, quite smugly too. It felt like a million needles were pricking into your skin, and it hurt so much that enduring a second of it brought tears to your eyes. At the end of the night you instead of becoming a flesh pancake you are now a smoked flesh stick.

“I don’t think you’re using that phrase correctly.” You're seeing stars and black dots dance around your vision.

“Oh, I am using it correctly, but that shouldn't be your main concern, _human_.”

Suddenly, the seat belts don't seem so bad you stop resisting to instead relax into them. _Fuck. Don't close your eyes. Don't close your eyes._ Drowned out voices go in and out of your ears and the last thing you saw before knocking out was a strange blue-green light that engulfed everything. _Shit. You fucking closed your eyes, didn't you? God dammit._

Back on the ground, there was going to be one lengthy and highly exaggerated explanation, along with some scheduled therapy sessions, for the poor, traumatized cashier who worked the late shift at the gas station.

 

 


	2. Captivity At It's Finest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are a sailor with sea legs and your land is a swaying cage, but hey at least the doctor is fun to poke fun at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, here it is, the long awaited chapter 2 of this weird fic  
> I hope you all enjoy

Waking up hammered in an unfamiliar place does tend to scare the living daylights out of a person, but you are no normal person. At least not until you’ve had your coffee, which you’d want to take with a good dose of Advil at the moment. Since you’re not normal currently, and your head is throbbing like Thor himself struck you with his hammer, it’s perfectly understandable you are in pain and rolling around like a child. The cold metal floor doesn’t scare you, nor does the swaying of the cage you’re in, but good God did you want it to _stop_.

 _Why the fuck am I swaying? I’m hungover, not hung-from-side-to-side._ Bile rose in your throat but you tamed the urge to puke all over yourself.

“Holy crap, _WOW_...did I get drunk, or what?” Your voice is croaky and it's mainly because last night you’ve screamed about fifteen times and drank more shots of rum than an Irishman.

Actually, you don’t remember what happened yesterday, or well _earlier_ today, which is probably better off for you and the other person because when you do remember, it’ll be one fucked day for the person who kidnapped you. So now you’re just taking your time to stare at the ceiling, trying to scavenge any remnants of yesterday’s brawl.

 _Okay so I don't remember how I got here, but why in the hell is the ceiling metal?_ You turn your head to view what else fate had in store for you, and you find scraps of metal lying in a heap. It's rusted but the dim lighting sucks ass so you assume it's rusted.

Careful not to cause any more nausea, you curl up slowly like an inchworm to get a better understating of the area. Giant cell bars greet you, much to your dismay.

 _Well fuck. Of, course I’m in a cage._ Steam exits your nostrils. _I’m probably in a human trafficking incident and am never going to see the dusty sands of Jasper Nevada ever again, am I?_

In all honesty, you weren’t wrong. Kidnapped, yes. Human trafficking? Definitely, not ~~the decepticons weren’t that cruel~~  and Nevada? You can never really say goodbye to those lonely deserts can you?

 _God, I just want to sleep and forget everything. I don’t care anymore._ Stars dance along your peripheral vision, tempting you go back to sleep but your splitting headache keeps you wide awake.

You sigh deeply and close your eyes, “Maybe this is all some wack job dream…”

“Oh, it’s not.”

_Shit. I know that voice. Ah, yes, I remember you!_

_Kool-Aid man._

You crane your neck to right and see two giant red eyes staring into your own.

“It’s you.” Speaking almost cracks your voice but you barely keep it under wraps.

“And it’s you, again,” Kool-Aid man raises an eyebrow, then backs away from the cage but not before pushing it a bit, “I see you’re taking this well, what with being held in a cage and all.”

 _Aw shit, now I’m gonna puke. Thanks a lot, you useless white crayon._ Instantly the swaying throws off your rhythm, as well as last night's leftover rum, and you stumble to your feet to reach a far curve of the cage and let your insides out. Behind you, you swore you heard Kool-Aid man utter a small _disgusting_ while you let everything out.

“I mean, it could be worse. I could be dead,” You wipe any leftover throw up off from your mouth on your sleeve all the while glaring at robot as if you were trying to make his head explode. The funk from your puking incident started to make its way over to you, so you trudge far away to leave the mess on its own, despite this you keep up the glare to its maximum setting: death.

“Yes, I suppose there’s that, but I’m sure after staying here awhile, you’ll wish you were dead.” At a distance you see the robot turn around and return your previous glare, but with a little more bitch thrown in there. More steam exits your nostrils, and you are left wanting to rip this son of a blender up.

 _You are smugass spinless metal vending machine who can’t drive for shit and I will escape this prison then get the army to smite you like the scum you are._ Now you didn’t say that to his face, but by god, if the colossal robot couldn't squash you under his foot like a bug, you would’ve written on his tombstone and danced on the grave.

“Where I am?”

Demanding seemed to the way to go when handling a colossal robot. Yes. That must be right.

“You are in no position to use that voice with me,” Kool Aid-man turns his back to you and does some work on the tabletop.

A frown finds your lips and you hold yourself closer to the cage bars, which are largely spread apart since the cage was meant for something much bigger than you. _I could escape_ was your first thought upon seeing the huge gape, but it was quickly shot down because, damn, you didn’t want to break your leg on the fall down. Head hung in shame, you turn your attention back to the Asston Martin who walked by your cage with a giant jar full of parts. He set the jar down before speaking.

“However, I was given clearance by Starscream, even if Megatron is under, to give you _some_ information.” He cracked open the jar, “You are aboard the Nemesis with us, the Decepticons.”

What he said literally went through one ear and out the other. To be frank, you had no more fucks to give. After a bit of pondering, you decide to scope the room for any means of escape while distracting Kool-Aid man with mindless chit-chat. So you've become a Mockingjay that shittily repeats back whatever Kool-Aid man says to you. 

“Decepticons? Sounds bad, and who’s this Negatron guy?” You look at your cage for anything that could help, but it's just the same as it has been. All that lay about were heaps of scrap metal, most of which you couldn’t even pick up if you tried, and rank throw up. All heap but no help. A sigh leaves your lips baren, and you slumber back to the bars of the cage, letting your legs swing over the edge.

“ _Mega_ tron.” He corrects but you pay little attention.

 _Yeah, yeah, Megatron, Negatron. Who gives a shit. I just need a way out of here._ To the right of the room is where Kool-Aid man stands, and you see him messing around with more nuts and bolts. Everything in here is either useless or bigger than you, so it’s a no-go on finding anything to aid your grand escape.  

“And that’s him, right over there.”

You do a double take at the decepticon, eyeing at his sharp features and intimidating demeanor, well, as intimidating as it could be for a robot in stasis. _How in the fuck did I not notice the largeass knife robot in the corner?_

Cables are hooked onto his body, multiple in fact, there’s even a sickening coat of rust on his metal, but the worst of all would be that giant cavity his chest held. Barely looking turns to intent gazing as your eyes pour into Megatron’s wound. Flashbacks follow your staring, resurfaced visions of your mother at the hospital with IVs and cables chained to her like some sort of sick science experiment. You’ve dealt with enough depression lately, so it’s familiar presence fills the room like a smog, and for a split second, you feel your heart sink at Megatron’s condition, whatever it may be.

“Listen, Kool-Aid man, I really don't want to be here, and as much fun as it was to play _Beauty and the Beast_ with you—”

“I have a name you know.” Knockout barely turns a glance in your direction, and the sudden change of atmosphere left your sarcasm in the wind.

You raise an eyebrow at Kool-Aid man, “And what pretell would it be?”

With a grin, though not as sickening as the one from earlier _events_ , the Martin spins on his heels to face you.

“Doctor Knockout at your demise, fleshie.” For dramatic flare, Knockout rolls his hand as if he were bowing to a queen. At least, that's how you saw it.

“And I have a name too, _Knockout_ , it's (Y/n), the one who will be _your_ demise if don’t let me out of this cage.” Something like a growl comes out from you but it doesn’t faze Knockout. In his audio receivers, it was actually cute, pathetic really, but cute in a way an owner would see their own pet barking at the mailman.

“Quite the comedian, aren't you, _fleshie_?”

“I am, aren't I, _Kool-Aid man_? So riddle me this, why the hell am I on the Memesis with a sad excuse of a doctor like you?”

“You hurt me human, you really do,” sarcasm dripped off every word he spoke, “but you’re here because you saw us.”

“ 'Us' as in you and Bumblebee?” Upon hearing his name, you see Knockout’s wheels run on his back. It's probably some middle school level drama smuck going on here. They had a kitten fight and now they won't talk to each other to sort out their feelings like a bunch of sissies. You smirk ~~not so slightly~~ because now you've found a subject to get under Knockout’s skin.

“Yes... _us_. Not only that but also we require an advantage against the Autobots. So kidnapping you last night essentially killed two birds with one stone.”

The word advantage takes your focus off finding a means of escape. It makes your heart race a bit faster.

“An advantage for what?”

“I’ll break it down so a simple-minded organic like you can understand.”

 _Patronizing piece of shit._  You narrow your eyes at Knockout, throwing eye shurikens as he turned around to tell a tale that you knew would be a bore.

“For vorns, or millennias as you call it, our race, the cybertronians, have been in engaged in a civil war between the Decepticons and the Autobots. Our war eventually spiraled out of control and the price of our undoings left our beautiful home planet, Cybertron, into nothing but a mere husk of what once was a fruitful utopia.”

“Now we scavenge your pitiful planet for what hopes to be leftover spoils of energon and take out any Autobot scum we happen to meet.” Knockout puts more emphasis on how he described the two planets and you almost take to heart the insult to Earth. But then you remembered how global warming and pollution has your planet about as screwed over as the Trojans invading Greece. And we all know how that worked out, so really, he is kind of right.

“Wow, what an interesting and totally not boring monologue…” to match Knockout’s previous tone, you let out a slow clap to accompany your equally sarcastic voice.  “You literally could have given me the plot of _Star Wars_ and I would have understood.”

He tilted his helm at you, optics squinting as well, “Star...Wars?”

“Yes, _Star Wars_. Good vs evil, intergalactic war, fate of the universe at stake, that whole shebang?”

“I have no concept of what Star Wars is but that’s horrible understatement compared to our predicament. I wouldn’t expect a human to understand.” Knockout gives a small _Hmph_ and turns back his work like a kid after a tantrum. You can practically envision a whiny crouton child trapped in the car’s body.

“And _I_ would expect an alien to understand stars wars, but here we are.”

Silence follows your little comment and the boredom almost kills you. There’s nothing to do but talk, or that was the most fun option. Escape was out of the question after surveying the area (and you would totally break yo ass trying). It does help however that Knockout is an open book and you can get under see his metal...skin? You don't know the correct term but that won't stop you from bothering him until he breaks. Besides, he actually quite entertaining, even if he's such a chatterbox. Narcissistic people always are.

You break the silence in half.

“So...what am I, a poker chip now?"

"Actually, yes, in this war you're one of the many pawns in place. One could say you are our trump card if you will."  
  
"Trump card?" You knew the term wasn't supposed to raise a feeling in you but your attention peeked. Trump Card, it made you feel important as of you were crucial to decepticons. It felt like you did have a purpose other than to be miserable. You felt...wanted.

And Knockout just had to kill it. 

"Leverage with the autobots. They keep in check and in return, we don't kill you."  
  
"Oh..."  
  
"Or if the circumstances arise, which, hopefully, they never do, we exchange you for something of equal value."  
  
"A comrade, information, energon. Highly doubt the last one though, we mine a mother load in every earth composition we find.”

After going into detail, the little bubble of warmth in your chest died out, leaving you hollow, as if you didn't matter. So much for trump card. 

_Looks like enough prying for today._

Drowsiness slumps over your shoulders, and now the headache from before is gone. So maybe you can sleep. They say laughter is the best medicine but sleep is coming at a close first for you.

"Once again, in this vast universe, I am merely nothing." You give a dry laugh before turning away from the lab.

Knockout doesn't reply. He simply continued with his work, but you can't see the concerned expression on his faceplate.

Perhaps it true, you are worthless, a voice inside says, but you don't care anymore.  You decided you’ve heard enough so you leave the edge of the cage in search of somewhere comfortable to sleep—somewhere still far away from the puke as well. Curled up in the cage, surrounded by rubble, you let the darkness claim you with opened arms and a heavy heart.

Nothing. The word itself was so degrading, it gave you strife to even think about the drowning feeling that came with it, striking your lungs and taking away air. Sleep eased the pain and you tried to forget everything; your mother, the fight, and the alien robot outside your pitiful cage. However as soon as you slipped unconscious, you knew tomorrow would be even worse than today, but that was a problem for future you and all you wanted right was some sleep. And sleep you did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda ended on a dark note there...ah well, C'est la vie for our poor reader.  
> I'm glad you guys decided to stay for the fic! I've planned most of it out now ;>


	3. All Salt No Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader is salty, maybe its cause all the water has left her?

"And you're sure the decepticons have her?"

Agent Fowler pinched the bridge of his nose. In front of him is a computer showcasing various pictures of last night’s fight club sprawl between Bumblebee and Knockout. Thankfully, the cashier was convinced to be under the influence of smoking and only ‘seeing hallucinations’ but another problem were the camera tapes, which caught footage of the fight. 

"Is the security camera not enough proof?" Ratchet doesn’t mean to add sass to his tone, it’s only natural for him. 

"No, it's plenty of proof, but we can't exactly put faith into a rinky-dink camera that only got half of Bumblebee in the shot."

Bumble is standing next to the Catwalk, glaring at Agent Fowler. What comes from Bee is very angry buzzing. Cute beeps and buzzes but furiously implied nonetheless. Rafael nods his head along and holds the straps on his backpack a little tighter.

"Bumblebee is positive. Knockout had taken her after Bee and the girl tried to escape."

More follow up buzzes from Bee.

"Actually, later, Knockout swerved in front of Bee which caused her to slam her nose on the steering wheel—and  _ wait _ , what?"

Bumblebee repeated it again slowly.

"And apparently, she bled on his steering wheel...?" Rafael gives an expression about as skeptical and or confused as he sounded. 

"So she had a nosebleed?" Came Miko from the catwalk. She has a smile on her face despite the poor situation. 

“Poor girl doesn’t even know what’s she’s gotten into…” Jack is scribbling down homework he’s copying off of Raf on the couch. If he looked up, he probably could’ve had seemed less insensitive about it. 

The bags under Agent Fowler’s eyes say he doesn’t get paid enough for this shit. Also that he needed a large cup of coffee. 

" _ Right _ ....then I'm going to need a sample of the blood so we can find out exactly who this chick is."

Fowler pushes himself from the desk and ditches the computer, and anyone else in the room for the elevator, "I'll be back with some proper DNA equipment, then we can send the samples to the lab,  _ and _ we should have the results back soon, give or take a few days."

 

* * *

 

 

You wake up like you had an underground cage fight with Death, and lost. Your hair is tangled in knots, you blame a random scrap metal piece you pulled out of the rat's nest post waking up. Every limb on you is sore and you don't know why the hell they are because you barely did anything yesterday, and your mouth has become the Sahara desert itself. Good god, not only that but your head was spinning like those plates on sticks, it wasn't balanced nor did it seem real. Were you dreaming?

"Oh shit," you swear you're seeing fake little birdies fly in circles above you.

"Did I get hit by a bus and reversed on because sweet baby Jesus it feels like it." Talking helps the pain but complaining can only do so much.

"Could it get any worse?"

"Probably."

It just did.

_ Kool-Aid man, noooooo waaaait....Knockout. That's right. Well fucknuggets. It's this smugass toaster.  _

"Thanks, it got worse."

You kind of hope he heard it but with him being miles away from your cage and you being small enough to be considered a pet, it wasn't likely.

“Recharge well?” Comes his voice, which is surprising because he actually sounds kinda sincere about it.

“Recharge? You mean sleep?” You grit the answer through your teeth, watching as Knockout entered the room, another con behind him as well.

“Sleep, recharge, there’s hardly a difference.” He walks the con to a table, “sit.”

For a second you think he’s commanding you to sit (and you already are) but the purple vehicon from earlier sits on the examination table. The con’s gaze falls upon you, and you don’t have to be an idiot to see the questionable look on his faceplate. Knockout left in search of tools and came back to greet the vehicon, who is now pointing a finger in your direction.

“Oh? The human? Midnight rendezvous gone wrong. Ignore it.”

Something snaps in your heart, and so does your neck when you double take what Knockout just said. You woke up like shit so you’re going to act like it. No one and you swear, no one can treat you like garbage. Knockout being an alien from another planet is no exception to this. 

Fire spills from your mouth and burns in your eyes.  
“I’m not an  _ it _ . I am a  _ they _ , excuse you.”

Knockout turns from working on the vehicon to your direction, “I beg your pardon.”

“Then beg.”

There is no mercy or hesitation in your tone. 

“What did you just say to me?” Knockout recoiled in disgust. 

“Beg.” You shrug smugly then repeat for good measure, “Beg. For. My. Pardon.”

“You said ‘I beg your pardon’ so it’s only fitting you beg for it, Cockout.”

“Cockout? What does that mean?”

“It means you’re a dumbass first of all. Basic human anatomy and English 1; a play on words.”

“But then again, what would you know? You’re only Cybertronian.”

“OOOooo you’re infuriaTING, you know that?”

A grin is plastered clearly on your face, “so I’ve been told, Cockout.”

“That’s it.” Cockout slams his tool against the table. His actions caused you to flinch and have the oh shit expression ready. A liiittle too far there with the annoyance.

“You’ve lost your sight privileges.”

“My sight privileges?—WAIT WHAT!?”

His pedes boom against the metal floor. Dunce-y Vehicon number 5 just watches from afar with what you imagine to be an amused expression. How you see it on his face when he has mouth guard doesn’t phase you in the slightest because right now you’ve got Hot Red storming towards your cage.

_ Aw shit, I’ve fucked it up again haven’t I?  _ After considering your actions, you immediately start backing up into the cage, scooching so far your back hits a heap of metal. The coolness of it feels strange against your burning skin, but you’re more worried— _ overthinking _ —what horrible torture Knockout is going to put you through.

Once Knockout reaches the cage, he is so gigantic his shadow literally engulfs you and the cage. His red color scheme doesn’t make it any better either.

_ Oh fuck me _ , you gulp on nothing.

Right when you think he’s going to snatch you out of the cage, Knockout actually snatched  _ up _ the cage. It swings with his long strides and the fear in your heart shrivels as he takes you closer to a large cabinet looking thing.

“For a minute there I thought you were going to gouge out my eyes,” you breath like it’s your last.

“I can,” He hums, but a growl is threatening to come free.

“Noted.” After having said that you shut up and take pleasure in the kid-in-the-corner punishment. Well, it was fun while it lasted.

Knockout placed you on a shelf and shut the cabinet. You are thankful he didn’t slam it because you would’ve lost your hearing otherwise. Later though, your boredom grew unbearable, and playing Marco Polo wasn’t exactly fun when there’s only one person playing it, and there isn’t even a pool. Still, you tried.

Whenever you were especially bored, you listened to whatever went on outside. Knockout had finished his patient Vehicon for what seemed like hours ago, you could tell by how their set footsteps changed to only one set of steps, and now he seemed to be working on Megatron judging by the constant sound of clicks and air hissing with the occasional “scrap!” thrown in there.

At this point, you had constructed a shitty bed frame with the junk lying about, and now lounging around. You were dying for attention. And some water. Maybe a Snickers bar too.

_ Geez, when was the last time I ate?? _

“Hey KO, do you think you could let me out?” You yelled, hoping it would reach him outside, “I’ve been a good prisoner!”

No answer. You knew he heard it because when you called all the noise of working stopped. Despite receiving the cold shoulder, you kept jabbering to him.

“Doc, when do I get my phone call?” You measly laugh at your own joke, eyes feeling a bit heavy.

Being an impromptu comedian must be tiring. You smacked your dry mouth, contemplating how your tongue was sandpaper against the roof of your mouth. The headache was persistent, and damn annoying too. It was throbbing even more than before. You lingered about in unconsciousness and reality like a poor, drunk tourist at a limbo contest. It wasn’t going well.

“Damn, is it hot in here or is it just me?” You scoff at the shabby pickup line yet you end up struggling to take off your hoodie. It nearly makes it off your head, messing up your hair even further.

“shitty no good cotton,” you angrily ball up the hoodie but your movements are sluggish. Sweat is stuck to your forehead and you are barely wiping it away.

“Whatever...” you begin to breathe heavily, heart rate picking up the pace, “I...I don’t even—need...it.”

You slump back down onto the metal bed frame like a ragdoll. Coldness strikes your back yet again.

“Hmmmm, feels niiice,” you mumble sweetly as the heat subsides.

Contentment is fleeting because next, you can feel the fever surging throughout your body, head to toe and vice versa. Your cheeks are flushed and palms are sweaty like that Eminem song, except you, haven’t had mom’s spaghetti, or anything really. When was the last time you eat solid food? Or water? Memory is failing you and now you’re just a computer heating up until it breaks, and when will you break?

You decide to skip the name-calling, or maybe you were too sleepy to think of one, “Knockout...I'm not feeling too hot. I think—I think I'm dehydrated.”

For once he answers. Maybe it’s because he’s a doctor, or he actually cares. Or maybe you’re his ticket out a life or death situation. Who knows?

“When was the last time you had water?” His voice is barely audible from where you are, or it could be your heart beating a mile a minute is blocking him out.

“Uhhmmm two days ago? I don't...mmm remember. Maybe it was 3 days...?”

This time you lose the fight to keep your eyes open.

“It's all...”

You are gone. Lost in La La Land and swept away to a world of dreams. But it’s a lie.

Knockout assumed you’ve stopped talking, but then realized you’re supposed to be talking. You never stop, so why now?

“Human?”

He rolls his eyes, briefly pausing his work. “ _ Huuuuman. _ ”

Knockout narrows his eyes and glares at the cabinet across him, which is funny to see because he looks like an idiot trying to open it with telepathy. You, sadly, are unconscious and in a cabinet and unable to witness this wonderful event.

“I don't have time for your shenanigans. Wake up!”

After a moment of silence, his heart skips a beat, and not in a good way. You’re very talkative. Such silence is deafening to Knockout because he’s used to you chatting mindlessly or snoring.

He stands to his pedes, walking slowly to the cabinet.

“I’m serious human, if this is another game, I  _ will _ gouge out your eyes,” his threat is meaningless.

As he draws closer to the cabinet his anxiety is crawling up his spine. 

“(Y/n)?”

For the first time, he said your name. It fell off his tongue with concern, a strange feeling resonating after it left him.

Knockout stops right in front of the cabinet. Again, he calls your name and receives silence. When he opens the cabinet you are there, sprawled inside the cage, hoodie laying by your side and an uncomfortable expression playing on your face.

“Are you injured?” Although he knew the question wouldn’t raise an answer out of you, it’s obvious you’re unresponsive, he talks anyway.

He huffs to himself, then pops open the cage door. It creaks lightly as he pushes his hand through and over to your body. His touch is firm yet delicate as if he were holding a bomb that could explode with the slightest of movement. Years of surgery and doctoral experience have steadied his hands, and he gracefully lifts you out without moving a hair on your head.

However, once you were out the cage Knockout realized you were scolding hot. Falling limp in his hands like a wet noodle wasn’t a good sign too. No matter what he did, or how much he threatened, you didn't wake up.

“Oh frag.”

_ They were serious, _ he thought to himself, his eyes widening like saucers.

And so, the  _ Oh Shit _ reality finally slapped Knockout hard across the face. You could DIE here. And he would have to clean it up. Panic set in but he trained himself to seal it off. Knockout didn't know a lot about human needs but he did know that passing out mid-sentence was not normal. He needed to get you to water NOW.

_ A hospital! The human hospital will know what to do. _ His quick thinking could be your savior.  _ Good thinking Knockout!  _

He pressed a digit to his head, though still grasping in you in his other servo.

“Soundwave I need a ground bridge to the Jasper Nevada STAT.”

Don’t ask why he said Jasper. It was the first thing on his mind, and that’s where he first found you. It’s logical, alright? At least, that’s what he told himself.

Moments later the ground bridge emerges with a  _ WHOOSH _ and Knockout transforms immediately. Internally he thanks Soundwave for his speedy call to action, then lets his wheels screech again the floors as he puts metal to the pedal. Meanwhile, you are practically melting in the passenger seat and he can feel your temperature rising. Your shallow breaths and incoherent mumbles only stressed Knockout thinner. Time is running out and he doesn’t know how much longer you’ll be alive if the two of you even reach the hospital.

So you better start praying sister because Knockout has no idea where the hospital is in good ol’ Jasper fucking Nevada.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, I've got school soon so ha ha  
> and poor reader huh? Now's she dehydrated AND stuck with KO YEESH


	4. Insensitive Asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What an asshole

When Knockout reached the other side of the portal he ~~almost~~ trashed another car. It was empty thank primus, but it’s not so empty in the back.

There is now a giant dent in their trunk, and sadly will not have there junk anymore. Among other things, now he’s whining for paint being ruined and the dying human sitting in his passenger seat. Custom pleated leather all the way from southern Europe. You can almost see his crocodile tears. Ah, but such is life for a pet owner, no?

KO pulls out of the misshapen car, then speeds away into the night having no clue where to go. He thought he could maybe spot the hospital since he’s a doctor, but’s he’s not a very good pirate, so he’s about as close to reaching the booty as is Captain Jack Sparrow to claiming it.

Midnight is pulled over head in a valiant array of stars and clear skies. They twinkle in and out, much like the light in your eyes. Not a soul can be spotted in the roads of Jasper, so it’s strange to see a red Aston Martin Tokyo drifting the streets like he’s Speed Racer.

His tires’ scream against the pavement as he turn in loops to hopeful spot the hospital. Instead, as he’s plowing down the road, he spots two people walking. Walking into the middle of the street. 

 _Frag!_ He cursed through the radio.

Knockout braked. Hard. So hard in fact the two pedestrians have gone white into the face and screaming as he screeches barely inches away from them.

Smoke dissipates from his wheels and the couple looks as if they could use a smoke.

KO doesn’t bother to roll down the window, “where is the hospital?!”

Probably not the first thing you should ask someone at 12 in the morning.

“Stop screaming!”

More screams.

“That’s it! I’ve had it up to here—“ KO lets his engines rip and pulls closer to the couple who back off in fear. “I’ve had a very long day and I’d like to not have a dead human in my cabin!”

Knockout is livid. The couple are traumatized. And then there’s you, the dying fish in his passenger. So far, this has been the worst date ever.

“WHERE. IS. THE. HOSPITAL.”

One actual speaks squeaks, which is a surprise for me and you dear reader. Their voice trembles over Knockout’s engine.

“O-On Treble lane! Just, Just take a right and two—two lefts!” They cower behind their partner, grabbing their jacket tight.

The other one dares to open their mouth, “it’s a tall building, kinda t-shaped. Can’t miss it!”

“ _THANK_ _YOU_ ”

It’s more of a relief thank you than a gratitude thank you at this point, but the couple takes what they can get and skedaddle on out of there.

Knockout scoffs at their cowardice, grumbling a “puny humans” and takes their directions. No hesitation in his actions as he corners Treble lane and pulls into the parking lot. It’s pathetic really, the hospital. He judges it on the outward appearance.

It’s t-shaped, like the couple said, tall too, but the windows seem a bit off, the color is a hideous beige that looks like it could blend in with the desert sands, ohh and those curtains are soooo last season. Regardless of the shabby choice in decor, he doesn’t wait to dump you out of his car onto the concrete.

That was also pathetic, his attempt to leave you there. It’s not like he can transform here—too risqué, cameras everywhere—so he settles for the latter of leaving you there at the entrance. Knockout does however make an grand exit. On the side of his alt form, a blaster appears and he shoots the front doors of the hospital, not enough energy to hurt anyone but enough to shatter a door and attract attention. 

He’s right though, because seconds later a nurse in full scrubs rushes out from the not-shattered door to find you sprawled on the ground and Knockout pulling out of the curve.

“She needs water.”

That’s it. Then he leaves...

 

...What an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im so sorry. Im so sorry.  
> I thought I had lost this file on my phone but it turns out I emailed it to myself long ago. Forgive me children. Oh my goooood. Happy belated holidays and a sadass birthday to me~


	5. Delusional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nurse Darby took the night shift

"We've got an unconscious woman outside the doorsteps, need 3 EMRs on log roll, and 2 for the stretcher!”

Immediately you are whisked away by a group of nurses and doctors, and carefully rolled onto a stretcher with a _FLOOP_.

“Any airway obstructions?”

One nurse takes a thin flashlight and pops open your mouth for a peek after looking at your chest crescendo. “None. She's breathing, but fast paced.”

“Checking Pulse.” One proceeds to check your pulse as they wheel you to the emergency room. “Heart rate high, low cardiac output. She's feverish, and dry skinned.”

“Why was she dropped off here?”

The nurse who first arrived to the scene stopped briefly to remember what happened but struggled a bit to put the right words together.

“The car—it—he? Said she needed water?”

Not a second later one of the nurses with concentrated eyes as grey as steel, looked up. “She's dehydrated. We’re checking her into room 127! I need this woman on an IV and an Oxygen tank! Get some water in her now!”

One of the nurses, Garcia (you can catch her ID), by your side leaves for an IV while another sped off for an Oxygen tank. The nurse with her concentrated eyes, counted your vitals with a hand pressed to your wrist. She’s so focused on your heart rate that one of the other nurses noticed you stirring awake.

“Darby! She's coming to!”

Finally you and your mess of nurses reach room 127 and by the time your bed has been hooked into place, you’re almost completely conscious.

“I'm Nurse June, can you tell me your name?”

The bags under your eyes and pale skin told her you’ve not had good sleep lately. She picks up your hand, stretched the skin up to eyeball it, which stands up ever so slightly. Yup. This bitch empty. You need water _NOW._ So where is the damn IV?

While Nurse Julie? Jung? You can’t remember. But as she checked your capillary refill, you’re failing to form your mushy, play-doh mess of a brain into letters.

You closed your dry eyes so tight it actually burned.

“I'm.....I'm _—shit._ ” You inhaled deeply. “I'm (L/n) (Y/n).”

“(Y/n) (L/n)? Okay, well, (Y/n), can you tell me where we are and what time it is?”

You blink momentarily then slur, “to hell if I know…”

One of the other nurses has finished hooking your finger up to a vitals monitor. Your ears ring like the goddamn liberty bell right now, and the starting beep of the machine is making it even worse.

Thank any fucking god up there, because Garcia, the nurse who went for the IV, rushed through the door as if her life depended on it. Really, your life depended on it more.

“(Y/n) we're going to need to give you an IV, is that okay hun?" Nurse June continued to put on a fresh set of gloves and prepare the IV needle for injection.

“Hmmmm, sure.” You gaze around lazily as if you’re not on death row, “hey, is Knockout here? That shit cracker betta not let me die...otherwise, I'm gonna...sue his ass.”

Nurse June cracked at a smile at your delusional state, but inside her mind ran rapid. Knockout? Was he the one who brought you here? Did he let you become dehydrated?

“Wait. Can you sue cars?”

Nurse June stopped. The needle didn’t touch your arm, but the oxygen tank arrived. Nurse Garcia went to go help the other one with the tank and connect it to a nasopharynx tube. Said nurse who brought the tank, aided you in putting it on correctly.

Once she finished, she realized Nurse June still had the needle in hand, “she's delusional, Darby. Is she intoxicated? If she's not competent—”

Your head snapped 90 degrees like a Barbie doll.

“Does it look like I'm drunk? Don't. Don't answer that. I'm not…” cue cough, “...I just need, water, oh my _GOD_ my throat hurts.”

The usual mouth filter is gone, so whatever flows from your lips flows, man. Quite freely, and quite hysterical actually. Nurse June, despite her thoughts on your mental status,  simply proceeded to insert the needle while you were distracted in thought. The Cuckoo-cachew train has left the station.

“Car judge. Car jury.” A gasp leaves you in awe. "Car lawyers! Is that possible???"

“Are you sure that’s oxygen and not laughing gas?” Darby gives the LookTM at Garcia, who just shrugs.

"Perhaps a concussion?"

Then you blacked out.

Everyone in the room had a mini-heart attack but Nurse June just waved them off. They continued to check your vitals and the IV intake. You’re breathing normally now since your body has compensated for much of the lost breaths. In fact, the only thing wrong now is you’re still feverish. It should break soon, hours later, or an entire day, either way, you’ll live. Yet, Nurse Darby just can’t shake off how you arrived at the hospital.

A talking car? It sounded ludicrous. Not to mention, the first nurse to the scene stated that you were _thrown_ out of the car door. She even asked the front desk for the security footage for proof. 

Nurse June sighed as she glanced over your covered silhouette.

She’d have to ask someone else to check you, for now she's got more personal matters to think of. Like the fact June swears she’s seen you before. Your tired eyes give everything away, those somber bags who share a story of sadness. Instead of continuing her thoughts, June runs a hand through her hair and cleared the frog in her throat.

“Garcia, watch over (Y/n) (L/n). I’m gonna run her through the system, find her next of kin and contact them.”

She stands. Then with the moonlight from your window shining on your spent face, Nurse June steals one last glance. And she leaves.

 

* * *

 

 

What a wild night huh?

First, you drop practically dead in the Memesis and then Knockout panics like a child with a skinned knee. Later, shit hits the fan, because Knockout has no fuckin’ clue where the hospital's at, then to make matters even worse he yetted—apologies— _yote_ you onto the doorsteps and finally shattered a glass door. Great job mate, at least you didn’t kill anyone.

He tried his best for a Decepticon. And he also tried not to worry.

KO couldn’t help it. His spark nearly reset itself when he drove away. The guilt was eating up him and his paint job. Poor mech couldn’t get you off his mind. He was so distressed at your state that he actually drove back to the hospital.

His wheels crunched on gravel as he rolled into the back parking lot. KO wanted to find you and make sure you were okay. It’s not like he cared or anything...but he was conflicted. I mean, after all the effort of handling that yellow-jacketed jackass, you had better not die on him.

Movement in a particular window caught Knockout’s eye.

First floor, the curtains were open (lucky him), and nurses fluttered about like butterflies. He could only watch their speed as they attended to the room and the patient within. His spark nearly leapt at the thought that it could be you. To confirm his suspicions, he drove to a parking space a few lots closer to the window.

It was definitely you.

You were talking, mouth moving with no sound. Oh, and now you were angry. Face scrunched in a grimace. How funny, those pitiful human emotions. _So fleeting._ Knockout almost wanted to laugh. He didn’t, but did enjoy your change of expression.

A woman with a sharp face and black hair turned around with a needle. Knockout trailed the needle to a bag of liquid.

 _Water._ He thought. _Thank Primus._

 _I will allow her to recharge. She'll need it._ Knockout parked himself nicely in that spot, where he could easily view your moonlit window.

However, at early morning, when most hospital residents were gone, Knockout trained his ion blasters on the cameras. Gotta take precautions, don't chu’ know? I mean, he couldn’t just leave you there in the hospital. No, no, no. Definitely not when the human authorities could show up, and god forbid, the Autobots too.

 

You were _his_ trump card, remember?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyy another update! Hope I didn't make you guys wait too long, enjoy~


End file.
